


A Bullet For A Slave

by cheekbonesofbenny



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekbonesofbenny/pseuds/cheekbonesofbenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock escapes his life as a slave, but at first it seems that no one wants to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock looked around pretty terrified as he ran through the cold, dark, wet streets of what he was pretty sure was somewhere in the east end of London. His brain was currently working a million miles an hour and he currently couldn't pinpoint exactly where he was. He was wearing nothing but the old ripped shirt and the pair of pants he had been wearing when he escaped the tortuous cell he had been confined to for the last year.

The thin, frail man felt almost completely exhausted now and had to stop running, shivering as the rain continued to drench him. "Help!" he yelled out in vain, but the streets were empty and no one came to his aid. 

Sherlock looked around, moving into a sheltered storefront to hide from the rain. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm, sinking into the corner with his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. Why was no one helping him? Why was he so alone?

Sherlock didn't know how long he stayed like that, but as the sun started to rise he left the safety of the storefront, deciding to brave the rain once more. He walked cautiously through the streets, trying to find someone who could help him.

A few hours passed and Sherlock felt so lost and helpless. Suddenly out of nowhere he heard a loud noise 'BANG!' it rang through his ears painfully, following the pain in his ears he felt a ripping sensation in his chest, the pain unbearable he cried out in agony.

"Help!" Sherlock choked out as loudly as his beaten, frail body would allow him to before he fell backwards, too weak to stand anymore.

The noise had apparently triggered a response because the next thing he heard were the sirens of a police car, quickly followed by those of an ambulance. He let his body relax as people surrounded him, a few faces seemed familiar and someone seemed to be saying his name, but his brain wasn't functioning correctly right now, his head swimming. Reluctantly he let himself pass out.

*

"Sherlock," John called. "Sherlock, wake up..."

The detective groaned as he forced his eyes open, he felt so much pain right now and his throat was dry and sore.

"John..." Sherlock croaked. "Water..." he croaked.

John quickly rushed to get Sherlock some water and helped him to drink it. Sherlock sipped gratefully, the cool, clear, liquid soothing his sore throat.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock murmured when he had finished drinking.

"No, Sherlock. You don't need to be sorry," John answered, voice gentle.

"But...I...missing..." was all Sherlock managed to say.

"Shh, relax," John breathed, smoothing his hand over Sherlock's forehead.

"Hurts," Sherlock whined.

John pressed the buttons to increase the flow of morphine, watching as Sherlock immediately relaxed, falling back into an uneasy slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock woke up in the middle of the night, sheets drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. He glanced at the clock and sighed, 3am. He tried to tell himself that it had just been a dream, but it all felt so real. 

With shaking limbs Sherlock slid out of bed, wincing as he remembered his wound. He took another deep breath before grabbing a fresh pair of pyjamas and padding quietly to the bathroom.

Sherlock gripped the sink tightly, staring into the mirror above the sink. His eyes were watery and bloodshot and his skin very pale, even by Sherlock standards. He goaned as the pain increased, reaching out for the medicine cabinet with a shaking hand in an attempt to get painkillers, but he quickly gave up, too weak to continue his quest.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, Sherlock looked up towards the door, internally cursing for waking John up.

"Is everything alright?" John asked, voice still a bit tired.

"F-fine," Sherlock lied, voice trembling.

John sighed. "Can I come in."

"I-If you w-want to," Sherlock gasped, feeling faint now.

John entered the bathroom just in time, catching Sherlock as he fell. 

"Back to bed with you," John murmured.

Sherlock pretty much just grumbled in response. John got Sherlock back to the bedroom, helping the detective change his clothes and putting fresh sheets on the bed before helping Sherlock to lie down once more. John then got Sherlock some pain relief and helped him to take it with a glass of water.

"I'll leave you to sleep now," John whispered.

"Stay...please," Sherlock breathed.

Without a word John sat down on the bed.

"Get in, John," Sherlock murmured. 

"A-are you sure?" John asked hesitantly.

"Yes. Please hold me," Sherlock asked of John, voice quiet.

John hesitated before getting into bed and wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked.

"Later," Sherlock breathed, almost asleep again, comforted by John's hold.

John smiled softly. "Okay," he said softly, making sure that Sherlock was asleep before letting himself drift off again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock whined as he woke up the next morning, plagued by nightmares he was unable to get a good nights sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking over at a still slumbering John. Sherlock smiled a little, John looked so content. Suddenly the detective frowned, reminded again of the dream he had just been having, he sighed and got out of bed, carefully walking to the kitchen to make himself tea.

Once the tea was made Sherlock sat in the lounge to drink it. Staring into the dimly lit void that was his and John's lounge he felt himself become suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and tears prickled in his eyes. He tried to hold it back, but he couldn't and soon he was completely sobbing, feeling scared and alone without John at his side, but he also felt unable to move back the comfort of his room, weakened by intense emotion.

A little while later John awoke, immediately noticing that Sherlock wasn't at his side he worried. Looking around he couldn't see Sherlock, but suddenly heard intense sobbing sounds coming from the lounge. John jumped out of bed, realising that it was Sherlock who was crying and went to him to try and soothe him.

"Hey, Sherlock," John said softly, wrapping an arm around Sherlock and pulling him close. "What's wrong?"

"The nightmares, John and the constant dark thoughts about what happened to me whilst I was gone," Sherlock sniffled. "They abused me, John. Both physically and emotionally. They violated me and made me feel like I was some sort of filthy animal. I'm scared, John. They shot me, you saw what they're capable of and I'm so scared they're going to find me and kill me."

"They won't, Sherlock. I won't let them," John soothed.

"All the while they're free, I'm in danger. John, they raped me, tortured me and threatened to kill me in numerous occasions if I didn't do as I was told. They are dangerous people and will not stop until they've got what they want," Sherlock breathed. 

"We'll get through this, Sherlock," John promised. "We just have to get the police involved."

Sherlock tensed up a little at this. "But then everyone will know what happened to me and they'll judge me and think me a disgusting person," he said, slight panic in his voice.

"No they won't, Sherlock. They'll think you brave for one surviving and two going to the police," John said gently.

"Sure?" Sherlock murmured.

"I'm positive," John nodded. "Now, calm down. You're going to be absolutely fine."

"It has to be Gavin and he'll have to come here," Sherlock mumbled.

"Gavin?" John shook his head. "His name is Greg, but fine. I'll call him after breakfast and we'll see what we can do."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock slowly and hesitantly stepped foot into Scotland Yard, he felt so uneasy standing there between the glass, sliding doors before gradually taking a step inside. A rush of panic and emotion flooding his mind he quickly turned to leave.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Is everything alright? Where are you going?" John asked, clearly concerned.

"I can't do this, John. It's too much...too soon," Sherlock panicked, skin pale. It felt like the world was closing in around him and it became a struggle to breathe, he felt trapped.

"Deep breathes, Sherlock. Come on, you can do it," John said, trying to calm him down. "In through the nose and out through the mouth," he said, carefully sitting him down on the step outside the station.

They were some of the longest twenty minutes in the the detective's life, knuckles white from clenching his fists so tightly, he felt dizzy as he tried to catch his breathe. listening to his friends soothing words. 

"I-I'm sorry, John," Sherlock breathed, shivering a little, he was quite exhausted now.

"Sherlock, you have nothing to be sorry for," John said softly.

"Take me inside," Sherlock ordered. "I want to get this over with."

"Are you sure?" John asked, giving Sherlock a questioning look.

"Yes," Sherlock grunted, unsteadily getting to his feet.

John supported Sherlock inside, taking him straight to Lestrade's office. Without knocking the two of them entered the room.

"Well, it seems that the freak is here," Anderson taunted.

"Piss off, Anderson," Sherlock grunted, really not in the mood for this right now.

Anderson went to taunt Sherlock further, but stopped when he caught the disapproving look on Lestrade's face.

"Enough," Lestrade told Anderson sternly. "Out of my office now, I'll talk to you later. Sherlock has suffered enough without your vindictive behaviour."

Anderson left with a huff, slamming the door behind him, causing Sherlock to jump. The exhausted man proceeded to slump in the nearest chair, head held low and eyes tired and sad.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Lestrade asked, making sure to keep his voice soft, not wanting to distress Sherlock further.

Sherlock nodded, gesturing that he wanted something to drink.

Lestrade stepped out of the room briefly, moments later returning with a glass of water.

"Here," he said, handing it to Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock croaked, slowly taking a sip.

Lestrade nodded. "Take your time, we're honestly in no rush. And if things become too much you must promise to tell one of us, alright?"

Sherlock simply nodded in response.

It was another twenty minute wait before Sherlock finally felt ready.

"Tell us, Sherlock. In your own words, what happened?" Greg asked looking at him encouragingly.

Sherlock was hesitant, taking a deep breath. "Well..."

Greg nodded, encouraging him to continue

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I remember it like it was yesterday, a year ago when John and I were trying to solve the case with Moriarty. We were investigating a crime scene somewhere in North London, can't quite remember where, but all was fine until I went into the back garden on my own. I remember a hand covering my mouth and I was quickly gagged and my hands tied behind my back. They then lay me down and kicked me in the face, causing me to fall unconscious." He took a deep breathe before continuing. "Over the time they held me captive they kept me pretty much constantly drugged, but awake enough so I knew what they were doing to me, I was just unable to fight back." He went quiet, finding the next part of the story a bit difficult to divulge. _  
_

"Is everything alright?" John asked.

"Yes, can I have a moment, please?" Sherlock asked, voice coarse.

"Yes, of course. Would you like to be alone?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head, sipping more water. The other two men waited patiently whilst Sherlock prepared himself.

Sherlock finally cleared his throat. "They starved me, letting me eat or drink very little. Then they...then they..." his face scrunched up. "They sexually assaulted me on a regular basis, often in the most unspeakable ways..." with that he fled from the room, not wanting to talk about this truly traumatic experience anymore.

John quickly followed Sherlock, finding him inside one of the toilet cubicles rather distraught.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Just take me home!" Sherlock sobbed, unlocking the cubicle door and falling into John's arms.

Without hesitation John took Sherlock home.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock refused to attend the trial when that finally came about, they'd found his captors shortly after he had given evidence. Since then the poor man had been in and out of various therapy sessions and had resorted to drinking...a lot.

One afternoon John returned from work, he called out as normal to let the other man know he'd returned. He entered the kitchen to find the younger man sitting on the floor by the sink, a bloody tea towel pressed to his wrist.

"Fuck! Sherlock, what did you do?" John asked, extremely worried.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought it would help, make the other pain stop," Sherlock breathed, body physically shaking.

"Alright, okay. Let me take a look," John said as he cautiously approached the other man.

Sherlock nodded and removed the towel to reveal a rather deep cut to his wrist, narrowly avoiding any major arteries. John winced and treated the wound as best as he could whilst calling for an ambulance.

The ambulance arrived in exactly four minutes, John was pretty sure Mycroft had something to do with the ambulance arriving so quickly, he of course wasn't complaining. He watched as a very weak Sherlock was put on a stretcher and given fluids and pain relief. John insisted he come with them, travelling in the back of the ambulance and holding Sherlock'd hand all the way.

Once in hospital Sherlock was quickly seen to and taken to a private room to recover, these were the perks of having a rich brother, Sherlock was relieved that he didn't have to share with anyone else and it was of great comfort that John was with him as well. Without John Sherlock would be dead and he knew it.

"You've already got more colour in your cheeks," John said with a soft smile as Sherlock awoke from a nap. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Physically, yes. Mentally, no," Sherlock murmured. "Sometimes I honestly think that I would be better off dead," he said quietly.

John shook his head. "Don't think like that, Sherlock. I would miss you...everyone would, even your brother...even Anderson and that's saying something."

"Hmm," Sherlock sighed. "John?" he said after a long silence.

"Yeah?" John said curiously.

"I love you," Sherlock said quietly


	6. Chapter 6

John stared at Sherlock for what felt like an eternity to the poor detective, for some reason unable to read the other man's face. 

John felt mixed emotions right now and was carefully trying to decide which to act on.

"I-I have to go," John said before hurriedly leaving the room.

Sherlock felt a single tear roll down his pale cheek. How could he be stupid? Letting his guard down like that, letting his emotions escape. How could he truly believe that John would reciprocate his feelings? 

Sherlock allowed his mind to slowly shut off, concealing all emotion. He lay there in silence for a while, letting it all fade away. 

Looking from the IV bag, down the tube to the IV catheter in the back of his right hand Sherlock got an idea. Slowly sitting up, he blinked a few times still feeling a little faint from the loss of blood, taking a deep breath Sherlock looked back at the catheter, without a second thought he removed it. Once removing the catheter, Sherlock realised the pain he was in but for now he ignored it.

After regaining himself a bit and blocking out the pain signals, Sherlock dressed himself, complete with signature belstaff coat. 

With caution he left the hospital room, bumping into the drugs trolley and stealing some morphine and something with which to administer it before leaving the hospital and disappearing into the night.

 

*

"What do you mean you haven't seen him?" Mycroft demanded of John.

"He left the bloody hospital! Besides, I'm not his handler, alright?" John said, aggravated. Of course he was worried about the man, but with his recent new relationship John didn't have time to keep chasing after Sherlock.

Mycroft gave John a dark look. "So your new girlfriend is more important than your best friend, hmm?"

John didn't even bother giving Mycroft an answer, he just stood up and left the flat.

*

It was around two weeks later that Lestrade finally found Sherlock on a routine drugs bust at one of the popular drug dens.

Sherlock was barely coherent, breathing shallow and syringe still hanging from his arm. His clothes were torn and dirty, face pale and sunken, his nose bloody and sin around the eyes bruised, there were obvious signs of self harm too, the man was clearly in a very bad way.

Greg's eyes widened and he called John whilst checking Sherlock's pulse and what not.

John made his way there as quickly as he could.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John breathed as he took over from Greg. "Do we know what he took?" He asked, checking Sherlock's pupils.

"We found this in his pocket," Greg said, handing John the small notepad with browning paper. "It's a list of what he's taken and when."

"Fuck, this is enough to kill him," John growled, not willing to give up on his friend just yet. "Call an ambulance!" he commanded.

Greg quickly carried out the request.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock blinked a few times, breathing heavy and feverish. He felt so sweaty and lethargic.

"J-John?" he croaked, but there was no one there, he was alone.

The detective sat up slowly, looking around the dark, dingy room, he was ever so confused and felt so lost right now.

Feeling suddenly light headed Sherlock felt the need to lie down again. He lay there for what felt like hours, just simply staring up at the peeling, yellowing paint of the ceiling.

Had everything that had just happened been a figment of Sherlock's imagination? The result of an overdose? He didn't know, but right now he didn't care, he needed more drugs, he needed to feel good again, to make his brain work properly.

Stumbling over to the door he tried to open it, but it was locked, meaning he was trapped. He frowned and looked over to the windows, walking carefully over to them he tried to ignore how sick he was feeling and just how much pain he was in. Looking out the window Sherlock came to realise he was on the top floor of a three story house. He cursed quietly, not wanting his captors to hear him.

Taking a deep breath Sherlock forced the window open, closing his eyes for a moment as the cold winters air bit at his painful skin. Choosing to ignore the pain he was in Sherlock sat on the window ledge. Looking down at the ground he couldn't help but feel the slightest prickle of fear running through his veins, but that was okay, the adrenaline would help him to escape. 

After a few moments to compose himself, Sherlock moved to stand and make his way across the wall to the drainpipe. He knew this was dangerous and he knew if he fell it could kill him, but Sherlock tried not to think about that. Once he'd managed to shimmy himself along the small ledge towards the drainpipe he gripped hold of the drain pipe and slowly slid down it, breathing a sigh of relief as his feet touched the ground.

Without looking back Sherlock made his way to the fairly tall, wooden, garden fence. Cursing that he had something else to scale before he could finally make his escape. Slowly the detective navigated his way to the top and down the other side. He was exhausted now, but had to keep going.

After walking for what felt like 1000 miles Sherlock reached a pay phone and unsure of what else to do he called the police, managing to give them a brief description of his whereabouts before passing out, not even managing to get the phone back on the hook.

When he was finally found he was taken to the hospital and the relevant people informed of where he was.


	8. Chapter 8

John sat at Sherlock's bedside, feeling terrible. If he hadn't have freaked out when Sherlock said he loved him they wouldn't be in this mess right now. Sherlock had had to suffer because John had freaked out and that made John feel like one of the most awful people alive. They'd spent a month looking for the detective and now he was almost dead in a hospital bed and John felt it was almost entirely his fault.

Sherlock groaned as he finally started to wake up, confused but comfortable and warm.

"Sherlock?" John gasped when he saw the detective start to wake.

"J-John..." Sherlock groaned, opening his eyes and looking over at the other man with his sunken bloodshot eyes.

"How are you feeling?" John asked softly.

"Bloody awful, John. I've been high for god knows how long, not to mention physically abused for so long now," Sherlock murmured. "I always wanted to withhold my virginity until such a time that I might find someone I trust and love, but now that's been taken away from me..." he sighed sadly. "And then when I tell the most important person in my life that I love them that backfires straight in my face and life becomes no longer worth living. I bared my soul to you last time I saw you and all you could do was run away, honestly, John, you call yourself a man?"

"Sherlock, I...I know it was inexcusable of me, but I panicked. I wasn't expecting you to say such a thing," John tried to reason.

"Do you reciprocate my feelings or not?" Sherlock asked, sounding irritable.

"I'm not gay," John insisted.

"Bullshit, John and you know it," Sherlock almost snapped. "Do you reciprocate?"

"Maybe...I don't know...I've never liked men like that before," John told him.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard the term bisexual?" he asked.

"I...yes," John nodded.

"Good, because that is what you conform to," Sherlock told him. "Stop denying it and allow yourself to be who you really are."

John quickly realised that he had no room to argue.


End file.
